


beneath a green sky thick with thunder and warning

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Series: kinsukuroi (broken pieces laced with gold) [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caleb is crazy, First Meetings, Gen, Nott be like is anyone gonna adopt that and then not wait for an answer, This is like asylum era Caleb, not a lot of comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Before Caleb Widogast and after Bren, there is a man in the middle.
Relationships: Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Series: kinsukuroi (broken pieces laced with gold) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840738
Comments: 12
Kudos: 167





	beneath a green sky thick with thunder and warning

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT ARE TITLES H E C K
> 
> Also I know the timelines are wrong shhhhh let me have this

He doesn’t remember much of before. Or even of after. His only sense is of now, the present, the walls and floors a white-white-white, burning and searing into his brain like a brand, and as always, there is the smoke and the screams and the fire. His only constant, they fog his brain and cloud his mind and all he can think of is the smell of burning flesh and heat licking up his arms.

Those are the bad days.

The worst days... when all he can hear are the screams of Mutter and Vater, as he feels phantom claws pulling him down into heat and pain where he belongs. 

He has less worse days, sometimes. Those are the days when he claws at his hands and bites and screams as he feels his flesh tearing, the shiny crystals glowing from under his skin, warping and twisting him into some grotesque creature meant only to suit Ikithon's needs.

He doesn’t even know who Ikithon is anymore, not really. He is only a shadowy creature who hurts and hurts and hurts.

The best days are when he feels nothing at all. When he becomes a black pit of nothingness and nothing anyone says or does to him makes him feel anything at all. Not even the fog of fire or twisting of his skin or the cackling of Ikithon can pull him out of that strange emptiness. 

He is a little scared of that emptiness. It feels almost familiar, as an old friend- but he remembers little of Before.

He does remember Mutter and Vater with their soft smiles and kind touches and caring words. He remembers the shadow figure, with long grey hair and sharp cruel eyes and deceptively soft hands that tore him apart and ripped him to shreds and built him up new and horrible and monstrous. He remembers fire. He feels guilt and pain and terror. He knows he’s done something horrific. And that’s usually when the memories stop.

Maybe he died, then, in the Before and this is penance for what he did in life. Because even in his altered state he knows,  _he knows_ , he did an unforgivable thing. He can’t quite remember, and when he tries to, it dissolves into screams and whimpers and the Others don't like that.

The Others come in on the worst days, when he draws blood from his arms and face as he screams and scratches, they don’t understand that he is only trying to free himself of the crystals growing inside him, pressing up against bone and muscle and veins, crawling out of his flesh. They especially don’t like it when he dreams of fire, and shakes and shakes and shakes.

They take him and press those metal manacles around his wrists and hit him if he fights and force him facedown into water until he can’t breathe, and if it wasn’t so blessedly wet and not fire he would mind more.

Sometimes they call him a name. But it’s one he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t have a name, he doesn’t deserve a name. Whatever it was, it had gone up in flames with Mutter and Vater and left him this nameless shapeless thing, a deformed mangled creature with fire in his veins, smoke in his lungs, and crystals under his skin.

He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t want to be what he was before, even in this fog he knows that much.

Before was bad, before was terrible, before was  _wrong_.

And then, as he sat, hands-fingers in his hair, red-orange burning bright as flickering flames, fire in his palms smoke in his lungs ashes in his hair- the door opened and light spilled in.

He blinked. There was something Not Right.

The Others, they were tall and strong. This one was small and quiet and careful. It pushed open the door and crept in, carefully closing the door behind it.

It moved in warily before stopping, yellow ( _fire bright burning no stop_ )  eyes wide as it noticed him. He didn’t blame it, he was sure he looked like a terrible creature, warped and twisted and burnt-blackened.

The creature brought a finger to its lips and whispered, "Shhhhh."

He didn’t know what that meant.

He didn’t remember much of Before, but something felt important- important to understand. Wide yellow eyes ( _goblin_ ),  long black hair ( _girl_ ),  sharp teeth ( _shhh_ ),  green skin ( _be quiet_ ).

He whimpered and curled tighter into his ball, scratching at his arms and taking comfort in the sharp sting of his nails and the red streaks of blood dripping down his arms. The comfort of finding flesh and not rock.

He peered at the creature-girl from under his curtain of tangled matted hair. He watched her swallow at the sight and creep to the far corner, all while watching him carefully and muttering to herself, "Ah... okay... don't engage Nott, just don’t engage."

His brows furrowed. Words. Words words words, what were they? He forgot how to speak sometimes. Everything got tangled together so easily.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it and asked plainly, almost jumping at the sound of his own voice, "H- hallo."

The girl creature jumped and then pointed the lump in her arms at him, "I’m warning you! I’m armed and dangerous!" 

He shrunk in, and oh were they warning each other? That was polite, he should do that too. He wouldn’t want her caught unawares, "I'm- I’m dangerous. Don’t- don't come near."

The girl frowned, "No- no  _I’m_ dangerous. Not you."

He shook his head and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears and the screams rising from the flames. He resumed his scratching, the pain bringing him back from the edge, grounding him in the most fascinating reality he’d had in awhile, "Why are you here, little... little one?"

He could hear a soft fond voice saying that, thick like his own and warm and loving and-  _raw from screaming-_ he dug his fingers into his arms.

The girl eyed him carefully, "Welllll. Eh, fuck it. No one will believe you anyways. I'm here to steal shit." She shrugged, "I was following a mark, followed him here and then, ahhhh nearly got caught? They’re looking for me. I don’t suppose there’s a way out of here?"

He dug down, not into Before, but into the blurred memories of this place, flashing stark white against cloudless smoke. His mind was excellent,  _exquisite_ he could hear a man say and the voice made him shudder, he could remember so much-  too much...

"Can you please stop doing that? It’s- it’s creepy?"  


He blinked, " _Was?_ "

She nodded at him, "Stop scratching your arms. Look at the state of them! They’re- they’re all fucked up." 

He looked down. Peeled scarred flesh, blotches of red and pink-white under his frantic fingers, red around the wrist from the rune inscribed manacles. He stilled, feeling the itch pull at him insistently, "I...  _I_ am fucked up. This- this is the least of it."

The girl frowned.

And then his mind found it. His voice croaked from abuse, "Out is left. Five doors down. Right. Six doors down. Left. Exit."

The girl eyed him, "How did you...?"

He inched backwards as he watched her take a hesitant step forwards, "I’m smart. Very smart. Too smart. He says I’m too smart. Not smart enough," his lips twisted up in a wry chuckle, "Not smart enough."

The girl bent her head, examining him, "Funny, you don’t seem too crazy."

He shook his head, "I- I  _am_ fucked up. I can’t stop it- I can’t stop anything. It..." he shrugged, "It comes and goes." 

The girl crept closer, still wary and poised for flight. Flight sounded wonderful. To get away from the fire and the flame, but he knows that the choking smoke would only follow him because he was the source of it, not a victim, never a victim.

The girl eyed him and this time he peered up at her. He could see her startle at his eyes, something wide and broken and desperate there when she saw them. He knew that look. Hollow, empty, broken.

A fellow shell of a person.

A kindred spirit.

And then the door burst open.

He recognized the Others, black and gold and white, shiny weapons drawn. He skittered back into his corner, hands on his face in terror. But they didn’t come for him. They went for the girl who screeched and let loose a bolt from the thing in her arms ( _crossbow_ , his tattered mind supplied).

The girl cried out in pain as the sword flashed, and red bloomed across her cheek. He saw-  _he saw-_ a girl under his hands screaming thrashing, blood and bone, a boy, a woman, an old man- guts and gore and entrails under his fingers.

But that was from Before, this was from the Now and instinct, unbidden and long buried, he threw himself at the Other who had struck and called upon the flames that tore at his soul.

The manacles glowed from the presence of magic and delivered swift retribution arcing up his arms, the smell of ozone filling his nostrils. He did not let go, as he usually did, and held on to the Other, desperate and panicked.

The man screamed and there was the scent of burning flesh thick in his nose and Mutter and Vater were calling for him, weeping and screaming and his gaze was orange-red, his very bones vibrating with electricity. He was dimly aware of yelling and hands dragging him roughly away, but the smoke was too thick for the Now to get through.

When he came too, his body felt like a bruise, fingers numb, but not broken, his very bones felt brittle. There was a burnt husk of a thing, and two others on the ground with crossbow bolts in their eyes and neck.

The girl was crouched over him, wide yellow eyes peering at him, a clawed hand on his cheek, blessedly cool, "Hey- hey crazy guy, wake up. There are more coming, are you gonna come or what?"

He blinked, " _Was?_ What happened?"

The girl shushed him, "Look c'mon, get up, I can’t just leave you here. I got all the stuff on 'em so currently, I’m flush. I can take care of you for a little bit. Up, up. C'mon, up now!"

She pushed him gently, helping him up on shaking legs.

She supported him as she dragged him down a familiar hallway, one-step, two-step, red, orange, yellow. He swallowed and tried to ignore the smoke on the floors and itching of his skin.

He hadn’t realized he’d gone to scratch his arms until there was a hand on his fingers stilling them. Wide, yellow, and unreadable eyes ( _right, the girl_ )  stared up at him as she laced her fingers through his.

They made it out into the cool night air (oh, it felt like home- but wait, where- what was home?) and the girl helped him stumble into the trees beyond.

They walked, for a long time, endless almost it seemed, except that he had endured far longer nights than these before.

The easiest way to keep sane ( _ha_ )  he found, was to count. Anything really, floorboards, hairs, seconds, and for this time he decided- steps. Under his breath, low and steady, he began to count, "Eins, zwei, drei..."

The small fingers around his own kept them from scratching. It was nice, almost. His other hand tapped out the rhythm of his steps on his side.

"...Vier, fünf, sechs..."

The girl had a hood and long wrappings and sharp little claws. Gold shone out of the bag on her hip and a small worn crossbow hung on her back. He heard a familiar voice from the shadow whisper in his head,  _filth, vermin, kill it-_

He ignored it and kept his count, "...Acht, neun, zehn..."

She broke his count, curious, "What are you doing?"

"C- counting." The Others hadn’t liked it when he counted either. He didn’t want this one to hate him too and he dimly thought that that was a little selfish, "Sh- should I stop?"

She glanced at him, "No. You don’t have to, I don’t care. If anyone starts following us though, then I would say maybe don't do that."

He nodded, "Okay."

Exactly thirty-two steps had passed since he’d counted last, "... Dreiunddreißig, vierunddreißig, fünfunddreißig..."

She spoke again, stopping his muttering, "What number are you on?" And then she added, "I’m sorry, I don’t speak whatever language you are."

He brought up the count in his head, more had passed, "Vierzig, forty."

"Ah."

She went quiet again, cursing under her breath. He heard her, though she probably thought he didn’t, "Why the fuck am I taking a batshit crazy person with me? Stupid fucking blue eyes-“

She turned and looked up at the sky and the cursed again, "I have no idea where I’m going. Where is the town? Oh yeah, just north of here, you can’t miss it. Ugh. Never taking his advice again..."

His tapping increased before he spoke, he could feel his fingers trembling, "North is over there."

She stopped and looked up, "What?" 

He shrunk back, hiding under his matted hair, hoping that she wouldn’t look at him like that. He pointed, finger shaking and dried with blood, "That way. North."

Her brows furrowed, but he didn’t sense any hostility there, only confusion, "I guess it’s better than any other direction."

She started walking that way, pulling him gently along before speaking up not a minute later, "How do you know that?"

"I’m... I'm very-“ not clever, not clever enough, "keen. It- it is,” he dug into the smoke and clouds and pulled, and this time what he actually asked for came up in his hands instead of smoke and fire and brimstone, "Twelve thirty-two and thirty seconds in the morning."

He felt her stop and then peer at him again, "Holy shit. What you’re a compass and a timekeeper?"

He licked his lips, "I have a very good memory as well. It’s- it’s not good. Not good. Can’t forget... can’t forget anything."

He didn’t want to dig there.

The girl eyed him, "You... you don’t forget  _anything_ _?_ "

He nodded, "You told me shhhh. And then- then you said be quiet. And then ‘Ah... okay... don't engage not just don’t engage.'" He opened his mouth to say more but she stopped him, "Okay. I believe you."

She eyed the manacles around his wrists, "I- I saw you burn that guy in there, but, but there was... was that magic?"

"Magic." He picked at his ragged arms, "Good at magic."

The girl seemed even more perplexed, "Why the fuck did they have you locked up in there? You- you seem important!"

He widened his eyes, as confused as she was, "The clouds are too thick and I can’t see through them. And the fire, it follows me. I should think that it was obvious why I am locked up."

"No- no I- I get that your noodle is fried, but why there? That place was shit. It’s where they lock you up and forget about you. There’s... there's no way any person is getting better in there. It’s... it’s basically a prison. At least that’s what I got from listening to people."

He nodded, that made sense but he couldn’t grasp why and he didn’t dare chase after that thread into the fog, into the fire, "I don’t... I don’t remember much of the Before."

"Great." She paused and then added, "I’m Nott by the way, Nott the Brave."

"Nott. You..." his words felt clumsy, "You are very brave."

She, Nott, looked like she hadn’t been expecting that, "And... what's yours?"

He shook his head, "I don’t have one. Not anymore. It’s-“ he could almost hear it, a word on smiling lips that crackled and crumbled black, to ash and then away leaving charred teeth behind.

"It’s not mine anymore. Even if I could... could remember."

Nott's brow softened, as if she understood, "Oh. I’ll have to think of something to call you, then. Eventually." The sides of her mouth quirked up, "If you stick around."

He flicked his eyes downwards, meeting hers, "I’m not good at that."

He couldn’t decipher the look in Nott's eyes, but the fingers around his hand tightened.

He wasn’t sure how long he would be here in the Now. But it was nice, he supposed, while it lasted. 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is here: https://ford-ye-fiji.tumblr.com/


End file.
